Hugh Cook - The Wordsmiths and the Warguild

Togura obeyed.

"Here," said the stranger, opening a leather bag. "Here's breakfast. What have we got? Black bread. One boiled egg. Some dried fish. I wish she wouldn't give me that horrible salty-shrivelled muck, still, if you're hungry you'll eat it."

"Are you sure…"

"Am I sure of what? Am I sure I can spare it, you mean? Of course I can. I don't live here, you know! I'm a little richer than this. I'm just here to check on the property, Skyhaven we call it, my uncle's place till he died. My name's Gezeldux. And yours?"

"Togura," said Togura. "Togura Poulaan."

Gezeldux asked no further questions until Togura had eaten. Then, bit by bit, he heard the whole story. By the time Togura had finished telling his tale – Gezeldux was an inquisitive old man, and a diligent interrogator – it was evening.

"You know," said Gezeldux, when Togura had finished, "I think you may have done better than you think."

"How's that?" said Togura.

"Why, if there's any such thing as a Universal Language, it has to be music. Get that triple-harp of yours to Keep, and, three crowns to half a pickle, it'll bring your odex to order."

"You mean I've found it? I've found the index?"

"Go. Try. See."

"But how do I get to Sung?" wailed Togura.

"Any boat can stretch across to Sung, no problem. Now rest. Sleep. You're overwrought. Sleep deep, and tomorrow we'll walk back to Brennan."

So Togura slept, and Gezeldux, an honest and honourable man, made no move against him, that night or after.

Keep!

To Togura, it looked small – he no longer thought of it as a city – but marvellous.

"Oh frabjous little town!" cried Togura.

Gaining its narrow little streets with their sloping-slanting rickety-arthrickety buildings, Togura did a dance of triumph.

"Yip yip!" he shouted. "Hurrah! Callooh! Callay! Skray skray! Oh Halloo-Schlag! Jeronimo!"

These exultations came to an abrupt end when someone at an upper-storey window emptied a bucket of dirty water over him. Muttering dire imprecations, Togura stalked away.

He was still somewhat damp when he stalked into the Wordsmiths' compound.

"Take me to Governor Troop," said Togura grandly.

"And who might you be?" said the servitor he had confronted, looking him up and down.

"Togura Poulaan," said Togura, boldly. "Sword-master, death-dealer, dragon-tamer and questing hero extra-regular, extra-provincial and extraordinary. And, by the by, a wordmaster in this organisation. So take me to Troop, my good man, or you'll be knucklebone soup in no time."

"Don't play the red cockerel with me, young strop," said the servitor, who was bigger and older than Togura. "We all know about Togura Poulaan. His brother Cromarty paid out good gold for his body's wreckage some six moons back. I saw the muck and mess myself."

Togura promptly punched the fellow, knocking the wind out of him. It must be noted, with regret, that close acquaintance with the Orfus pirates had caused a certain deterioration in Togura's grasp of the finer points of etiquette.

"It's half-brother, snot-head," said Togura, as the servitor doubled up, gasping. "I'm back from the dead, alive and breathing – which is more than you'll be, unless you come to order, pronto."

Very shortly, Togura was in the presence of Governor Troop.

"Who are you?" said Troop, surveying the stranger in front of him – a hard-faced young man with a scarred nose and a raggedy beard.

"I," said Togura, "am Togura Poulaan, also known as Barak the Battleman and as Forester. I am, in case you don't remember – "

"Why, boy, of course, of course!" said Governor Troop, rising, beaming, taking him by the hand. "How foolish of me! Our questing hero! You've found the index, have you?"

"Not so fast!" said Togura, keeping hold of the Governor's hand, and squeezing it a little, trying to feel the bones through the fat.

"We have a problem?" said Governor Troop, twisting free. "Why, my boy, I'm sure we can easily sort things out. Sit down and have a drink."

"We don't have time to drink," said Togura grimly. "My men are waiting for me to return with news of satisfaction."

"Your men?" said Governor Troop.

"My hand-picked killing guard," said Togura, bluffing without a blush. "They're waiting out in the wilds. The rest of my legions, of course, are still on the Lesser Teeth."

"Your legions?"

"Don't look so startled, man!" shouted Togura. "It's near enough to three years since I left here. Three years of world-wandering, of challenges, courage-tests, heroic deeds. Is it any wonder I've got a following? I've foughts dragons. I've killed men in combat, my hands armed or empty. I've commanded troops in the Harvest Plains. I've – "

"Peace!" begged Governor Troop. "Peace, don't hurt us, don't, please, what do you want?"

The soft fat little butter-plated man disgusted Togura. In a loud, hard voice he made his demands:

"My agent, the wizard of Drum, made an agreement with you and yours. I was to risk all – toes, kneecap, cock, balls, heart, guts, stomach, neck – to recover the index. Not an easy task, my man! Not with monsters, mad wizards, invading armies, sundry assorted barbarian slaughter-specialists and other hazards to contend with."

"Yes, yes, I know, I know."

"In return," said Togura, "you and yours were, among other things, to force Cromarty to withdraw the reward offered for my head. I now know – don't try to tell me different! – that that reward was paid out."

"But you've still got your head."

"That's not the point! You and yours were supposed to deal with Cromarty. Instead I've still got to do the job."

"I'm sure you're more than equal to it," said Governor Troop, with something like a purr in his voice.

"That's not the point!" said Togura. "You reneged on our agreement. You broke the contract. That being so, since you're in dereliction of your contractural obligations, I'm in no mind to settle for the paltry eleven percent my agent settled for."

"I think – "

"Don't! Listen, now. I'll settle for fifty percent. Fifty percent of everything that comes out of the odex. Fifty percent by value. Take it or leave it."

Shortly, Togura had extracted a written contract from the Wordsmiths. He departed, saying he was gong to confer with his men in the hills. Instead, he went and sought out Raznak the Golsh, one of the most powerful men in the Suet clan. They had a long discussion together.

In return for a small cut of Togura's income from the odex, Raznak the Golsh promised Togura armed protection against Cromarty, and assured him he would most certainly have Day Suet's hand in marriage if he could recover that young adorable from the odex.

The next morning, Togura presented himself again to Brother Troop, then went to try his triple-harp, the putative index, on the odex. Now was the moment of truth. Would it work or wouldn't it?

The odex looked just the same as ever: a thin grey disk, invisible when viewed side-on, a mirror when seen from an angle, a discordant swirl of kaleidoscopic colour when seen from directly in front.

"Ahyak Rovac!" screamed Togura, testing the odex with a fighting-phrase he had picked up in his travels.

Out from the odex came a fang-gaping ilps, a vicious manxome monster which Governor Troop demolished with five well-placed immaculately-timed questions.

"Sholabarakosh," said Togura, saying the Word needed to open his enchanted casket.

The odex spat liquid jade. Fortunately, it missed both Togura and Governor Troop. The jade hit the ground, hissing, and hardened swiftly. Togura took his triple-harp from the casket.

"That's the index?" said Governor Troop.

"Watch," said Togura.

And he began to play. He tried high notes and low notes, chords and crescendos. He played something by the way of melody, and something by the way of outrage. He played a caterwauling fugue of his own invention. The music excited the odex. Ilpses came bubbling out, some hard, some lumpy, some focused, some frothy, some with five mandibles and some with seven, some hairy, some glossy. Chased by questions, these fugitive apparitions streamed up into the sky; in the streets beyond, dogs began to bark and howl.